


The Last of the Dragons

by Zexapher



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon VI Targaryen and Jon Snow are Siblings, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Child Ruler, Childhood Friends, Dead Rhaegar Targaryen, Dead Robert Baratheon, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Intrigue, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Aegon VI Targaryen, Post-Rebellion Story, The Red Keep (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zexapher/pseuds/Zexapher
Summary: Robert was slain at the Trident, the Mad King died a victim of his own madness, and Rhaegar passed away not long after. The young Targaryen children must now brave an uncertain world. What will be their fate when the last of the dragons are mere hatchlings surrounded by wolves, lions, krakens, and even worse?Follow the young Targaryen children, Aegon, Jon, and Rhaenys as they learn to navigate the intrigues and betrayals of court. They and their guardians must try to stitch back together a divided realm that has more than enough reason to be at each other's throats.
Relationships: Pairing Undecided - Relationship
Comments: 19
Kudos: 25





	1. The Passing Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I've published, I'm bringing this one over from Fanfiction.net, where I've got a few chapters already published. This is an idea I've been mulling over for more than a few years. I've always liked the idea of what Westeros would be like if the Targaryens were victorious during Robert's Rebellion. I was inspired by a similar fic that was unfortunately taken down a few years back.
> 
> We'll be following Aegon for the most part, but I'll be splitting off every now and then to follow the other Targ children and possibly a few others. I'll be skipping through Aegon's childhood a bit, but I will be establishing a few things before we get to relatively grown up characters. Enjoy the story!

"Was Robert Baratheon a bad man?"

"I did not know the man, your Grace. Not well anyway."

"Why did he start the war?"

"It was Jon Arryn that truly started the war."

"Then why was Jon Arryn spared, but not Robert?"

"Jon Arryn never proclaimed himself king... and he bent the knee. Besides, Robert was slain in battle. Though whether Rhaegar would have pardoned the man? I know not."

"Everybody says he hated my father, was my father a bad man?"

"No," The grizzled old knight started, before settling into a frown. "Rhaegar Targaryen was the finest man I ever had the pleasure of knowing. Robert was furious, he loved Lyanna Stark and yet she did not love him. She ran away with another man."

"But my father... he had my mother, didn't he love her? Why did he leave her?" The young boy said, with a quiver to his voice. "Why did he leave u-us?!" The tears started flowing "He left m-"

"Come here," He pulled the boy into a tight embrace, muffling the boys sobs, "shh, quiet now." After a pause, the old knight pushed him away to stare into the lad's eyes, "Always know that your father loved you, he cared for you and your sister deeply. I know it." As he pulled the boy into another hug he thought for a moment, not for the first time, of that damned prophecy. "He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders..."

"Ser Barristan?"

"Yes?"

"Why did he have to die?"

"The Seven only know, Aegon."

* * *

It was late morning when the peace summit began. The summer rains had fallen during the night and now the day's heat had left the air almost unbearably humid. The sun had driven away the clouds and was now beading down on the peace delegation. More than a few were sweating in the sweltering heat.

Aegon and the others had taken refuge in the shaded gardens overlooking the sea. The wind blew through his fair silver hair, a welcome relief from the heat. He breathed deep, enjoying the earthy smell that had followed the morning rain. He opened his deep blue eyes, eyes so dark they bordered on purple. Aegon gazed over the ocean, the sun blazing across its surface. He raised a hand to shield himself from the glare. Ships dotted across the bay, sailing into and out of the port.

Aegon wondered what journeys those ships had taken. Perhaps they sailed from Dragonstone, that black volcanic island which had provided his family refuge for generations. Or maybe they were traders from Gulltown, that bustling port laying on the northern tip of the Bay of Crabs. Mayhap the ships hail from yet further North, the frigid White Harbor perhaps? Perchance the ships sail from southerly Oldtown or the Arbor? Or even from the distant and strange lands of Essos.

"You're distracted again. You haven't forgotten why we're here, have you?"

The Princess of Dorne was slender, with dark hazel eyes and olive skin much like her mother's. Though her hair was lighter, like a dark amber.

"No." Aegon lied, somewhat impetuously, he was quick to collect himself though. "This war must end, your armies are beaten, it is time you bend the knee. You and your people are at my mercy." Aegon declared imperiously.

"Dorne shall never surrender, we did not bow to the Conqueror and his sisters. We will not bow to you," Princess Rhaenys shot back haughtily, "you do not even have dragons." She added with a laugh.

"We have a dragon." Aegon could not help but break into a grin. "He stands before you." He added spreading his arms wide.

"I see no dragon." An auburn-haired youth, cut in. "Only snakes."

"You question our honor, Robb?" Another countered. His dark hair marked him for who he was, and what he was if Uncle Viserys is to be believed. The lad could be none other than Jon, Aegon's own brother. Brushing a dark brown lock from his eyes the youth continued, "We should settle this, with a duel!"

"Have at you!" Robb brought his sword to bear, and with that the peace summit dissolved into shoves and shouts.

Rhaenys brought Aegon to the ground with a quick push while Jon declared himself Aemon the Dragonknight, crossing swords with Robb who in turn proclaimed himself as the Sword of the Morning. Darksister clashed with the legendary Dawn, though in truth the "swords" were no more than sticks the children had gathered.

They ran, laughing and chasing each other until they were out of breath. They reenacted what they could of the Young Dragon's conquest of Dorne. Though for the most part their battles devolved into grappling and tumbling in the quickly drying mud.

"Careful now children, you wouldn't want to hurt yourselves." Called out a voice from the entrance of the shaded grove. There, atop a bench, sat a man wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Tall and broad of shoulder, he wore a brilliant suit of shining enameled scales, white with silver clasps and chasings. A belt of white leather at his waist and a sheathe at his side, his sword was drawn and laid upon his knee to sharpen as he watched over his charges. He was one of the most respected knights in the Seven Kingdoms. Though the lines of his face were deepening and his light hair turning white with age, his keen eyes whispered of the same spirit that had earned him his moniker, Ser Barristan Selmy "the Bold."

"Sorry Barry, we'll be carefu-oof." Rhaenys was cutoff when Aegon and Jon cheering together swept Rhaenys off her feet, bringing her to the ground. "Ow, that hurt!" She shouted in indignation.

Jon laughter died with a guilty look flashing upon his face, but Aegon kept his cocky smirk and boasted. "It would appear the Dornish cannot withstand the Dragon's might. Do you yield?"

"Alright fine, I give up." Rhaenys conceded with a huff. "But I get to be King next!"

"You can't be king." Robb blurted out.

"And why not?" Rhaenys growled testily.

"Because you're a girl!" Robb piped out.

Rhaenys seethed and pushed Robb down into the mud, igniting yet another wrestling match.

"Serves you right." Jon chuckled, his cheer reborn.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Shouting startled the children, Rhaenys and Robb scrambled to their feet. Their dispute, and now the game, forgotten. "The royal family brawling in the gardens like common rabble!" The voice could belong to none other than Viserys Targaryen. Five years Aegon's senior, he was taller, more mature, with long flowing hair that made him so much more... regal. They always said Viserys was the kingly one.

 _'Regal and princely, even when he shouts.'_ Aegon thought, his mood dampening. He turned to address his uncle.

It was Princess Rhaenys that spoke first however. "We're reenacting the conquest of Dorne." Rhaenys said forcing a smile upon her face though even that was fading fast. "I'm the Princess of Dorne and Aegon is King Daeron, "the Young Dragon."" She added.

"Dorne was ruled by a Prince during Daeron's conquest, I doubt you could rule anyone." Viserys mocked, a snarl marred his normally elegant features. He turned on Aegon. "And you?! The Young Dragon? Look at yourself, you are covered in dirt. Daeron never wallowed in the mud like swine."

"Please Uncle, we were only playing." Aegon broke in.

"Playing? A king does not play! You're acting like a fool." Viserys raged.

A hand landed upon Viserys' shoulder, halting him. "My prince, they are merely children, as are you if I'm not mistaken. Why not play the part?" Ser Barristan questioned. "You won't be young forever."

"Aegon is our king, he needs to be ready now." Viserys countered. "Tywin says-." Barristan seized his arm pulling the young prince aside, though not far enough that Aegon could not hear.

In a stern and hushed tone Barristan began to lecture Prince Viserys. "These children have been worried sick about their mother for days, let them have this chance to forget their troubles. Be patient, and take comfort in that Aegon has eight long years to prepare for rule."

At the mention of his mother, a dark cloud enveloped Aegon's thoughts. _'It seems like she is only ever sick lately.'_ The Dowager Queen Elia Martell had often been of fragile health, but this sickness had come so suddenly and she had been bedridden for so long. This sickness was different, it frightened Aegon. It worried even Grandmaester Pycelle. The old man had taken charge of her caretaking, he would trust no other with the queen regent and such a serious malady.

Aegon was drawn from his thoughts when Viserys wrenched his arm free, with a sneer. "Fine then, but Aegon should be a part of this. He needs to witness the Greybeard's death."

"Very well then." Ser Barristan relented, though the disapproving look upon his face told another story. "I'll see to it that a litter and a proper escort are prepared."

"Aegon, if your Grace would allow, you must be made presentable. Come, come." With that Prince Viserys turned and began to make his way out of the garden.

 _'I do not want to go, why must I leave?'_ Aegon thought to himself, frowning he looked back towards everyone. Jon looked scared, cowed by Viserys' outrage, Robb upset that the games had ended, and Rhaenys, her arms crossed and looking quite pointedly to the side... had a complicated expression. Anger? Frustration? Or something else? Aegon did not have time to dwell on that as Barristan laid a hand upon Aegon's shoulder and gently prodded him onward.

At the end of the garden Viserys looked back over his shoulder, waved a hand in the air, and called out. "Quickly now, the execution shan't wait."

* * *

Aegon was quickly ushered into the royal apartments where servants stripped him of his soiled clothes and then replaced them with appropriate garments. Aegon took short note of the crimson doublet, trimmed in black, that a manservant quickly pulled down over his head. The young King wished he was doing anything else, the prospect of some formal event did not excite him.

"Is there any news of my mother?" Aegon questioned, hoping that there had been some improvement after the night. His attendants had heard naught however, in fact by all accounts Elia's headache and fever had only grown worse. "I should like to see her tonight."

"I -erm, I'm not sure we could do that your Grace." The servant shuffled nervously. "We would not wish for you to catch her sickness." He shot a glance towards the door. Towards Viserys leaning against the wall or the ever-vigilant Ser Barristan standing beside him, Aegon was unsure.

"Oh, enough of this. That will be fine, Pycelle has already determined the illness is not contagious, you need not worry." Viserys waved away the servant's concerns.

"Of course, my prince." The servant bowed towards him and turned back to Aegon, he looked quite relieved. "In that case, upon your return from the execution we will have your supper prepared. You may take it with the Queen Regent if it please you?"

"It does, thank you." Still, Aegon frowned. He had not seen his mother for days. Since the sickness had taken her they had not allowed him to visit her. _'I hope she gets better soon. I want to go swimming again.'_ Aegon thought back to the last time they had all visited the beach together. They had swum in the cool waters of Blackwater Bay and sunned themselves on the warm sands. _'Jon and I can build another sandcastle, just like last time.'_ The castle had been a stout simple little thing, consisting of no more than a few mounds of sand connected be a shorter ring. They'd built a larger hill in the middle to act as the keep, Jon crowned it with a shell and called it complete. Mother would always tell them how impressive it was and from time to time she would join them. She was good at building sand castles. _'Mother can tell us all her stories from Dorne. We can watch the sunset and stay out until it gets dark.'_

Since the sickness had taken his mother Aegon did not have nearly as many chances to leave the keep. Lord Tywin would never give them leave to enjoy the beach, or ride through the Kingswood, or hike through the fields outside the city, or even to explore the city itself. Tywin was always stern and almost always sent Aegon to lessons instead. Usually with dusty old Pycelle, but sometimes with the much more exciting Barristan. Aegon liked learning the sword under Barristan in the yard, but his stories were the best. Pycelle knew a lot, but he was always so ponderously dull. Pycelle's stories would just drag on, he could even make dragons boring. Barristan though, Aegon learned a lot from him. Of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, of the Kingswood Brotherhood, of the Stag's Rebellion, of his father's younger years. Those ones were few and far between however. Most of the Aegon's time was spent learning his words and numbers, old family histories, and the basics of war.

 _'Always so much to do, I wish I could be free of it all.'_ With a heavy sigh, he wiped the frown from his face and settled into a kinglier visage. "The mask of a king" Rhaenys had teased him once, but Aegon's mother had approved and Jon thought it looked very serious, so it can't have been bad. _'I need to appear strong, now more than ever. A King must be presentable before his subjects.'_ Aegon reminded himself. _'Or at the very least, I must not give Viserys cause to be wroth.'_ Aegon glanced to his young uncle, who studied him from the door. _'He can find the smallest thing to quibble about.'_

Viserys, having apparently made up his mind and found Aegon's appearance acceptable, pushed off of the wall and stepped forward. "Good, good, that's enough. You are dismissed." Viserys waved off the servants, grabbing a black cloak from one he motioned Aegon to turn around as he helped Aegon don the cloak. "You must stand tall, you will be seen, you must act the part of a king."

"But I am King." Aegon asserted.

"Not as you are," he all but spat. "You must emulate and surpass your father. You will need to work hard to prepare yourself for your reign. Your mother may not always be there for you." The cloak's clasp clipped into place.

"What was he like?"

"Who?"

"Rhaegar, my father. What was he like?"

"He was the greatest warrior the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. On horseback with a lance or on his feet with a sword he was unbeatable. So unparalleled was his prowess with the blade that Rhaegar slew the Demon of the Trident in personal combat, ending the would-be usurper's war in a stroke." Viserys paused, his gazed had strayed to the window overlooking the city. "Though even Rhaegar, in all his glory, did not come out of that battle unscathed."

"Everyone says he was noble and just."

"That he was, so noble and so just that he defied the orders of his lord father, his king, in order to protect the daughter of a traitor." Venom began to drip into the Prince's speech. Aegon did not like the turn this conversation was taking. "Though even for all that honor he could not keep faith with his wife. Your mother could not hold Rhaegar's eye. He abandoned his responsibilities and allowed the rebellion to spiral out of control."

"Viserys." Ser Barristan attempted to interject. A stern look set upon his features.

"You can't sa-"Aegon began to protest, but halted at the knock on the door. In entered another knight of the Kingsguard, gleaming silver and white. The black bat emblazoned upon his helmet made it clear as to the wearer's identity.

"The escort is ready, your Grace." Declared Ser Oswell Whent, the Black Bat of Harrenhal, as he lifted off his helm. "We are ready to leave whenever you are sire."

A smirk threatened to sprout upon the Black Bat's face. "Though I'm sure Grandison and Cafferen wouldn't mind waiting a while longer. Shall we depart, your Grace?"

"We shall." Viserys answered for Aegon, putting an end to their discussion. Already making his way through the door.

The royals and their escort descended from the royal apartments and made their way through the pale-red stone corridors of Maegor's Holdfast. Rays of light shown through great windows, illuminating skillfully crafted tapestries depicting all the Targaryen King's. Here the indecisive Aenys, there the beloved Baelor. And beyond them, Daeron the Good, followed by his sons the bookish Aerys, that is the first Aerys, and the stern Maekar. Finally, at the far end of the hall, Aegon's grandfather, Aerys II, who was betrayed by the ambitions of the Starks. Next to Aerys was Aegon's own father, Rhaegar, who had brought the realm to a fragile peace before succumbing to wounds received at the Trident. This was the history of the Seven Kingdoms from Aegon the Conqueror, whose reign had lasted decades, to the short-lived Rhaegar, whose reign had lasted mere weeks. So short was his reign that he had never even had a coronation, some claimed that since the High Septon did not crown Rhaegar in Baelor's Sept, that he had never really been king. None argued so in the presence of the queen however, not anymore.

 _'Had any of those Kings faced the challenges I will.'_ Aegon wondered. _'Jaehaerys the Conciliator and the Young Dragon were fourteen when they gained their crowns, Aegon the Dragonbane was only eleven.'_

"And I am younger than them all." Aegon mused.

"Pardon?" Viserys questioned, shooting a look behind him.

"It's nothing." Aegon replied as they exited the passage into the entrance hall. An ornate affair with great red dragon banners draped across every wall, and above every door. An extravagant Myrish carpet led through the room towards the entrance where a layered, heavy Oakwood, iron banded door was found flanked by two intricately carved black dragons with green emeralds in place for eyes. They passed a knight at the door, he wore a blue and white striped surcoat and embroidered upon his chest a spotted leopard wielding a golden axe. He bowed low whispering a courtesy for Aegon though the King paid him little mind as they made their way to the doorway.

 _'I wonder what kind of king I will be?'_ Aegon pondered. _'Will I grow wise and aged like Jaehaerys? Will I be a great warrior, a conqueror like Daeron? Or will I be likened to Aegon Dragonbane and see the strength of House Targaryen waste away?'_

"The Dornish, they hold too much influence at court." Viserys grumbled, interrupting Aegon's contemplation. "You would do well to send them all away when the regency ends."

"But they are mother's men." Aegon protested, confused at the sudden topic.

"They're Dornish." The older Prince grunted, as if that explained it. Though after seeing Aegon's questioning look he continued. "Lord Tywin told me all about them. Whimsical and changeable, unreliable and treacherous, they abandoned your father at the trident, they cannot be relied on... or trusted."

"I would not be so quick to disparage the Dornish, my prince." Ser Oswell Whent interjected from beneath his black bat helm. "Prince Lewyn Martell was my sworn brother, and he gave his life in the service of your father, despite the old king's... indiscretions. He was loyal to the end."

Viserys did not respond to that.

As the great doors were opened before them, they exited the hall into the holdfast's courtyard to be met by a number of knights, men at arms, and various servants and retainers. Individuals dressed in their best finery, most bore the red and black colors of House Targaryen. Though others wore with pride the colors and heraldry of their own houses or those they were sworn to. Sigils of black crossed warhammers, of silver fish and rams, of silver seahorses. Aegon recognized those from his lessons with the Grandmaester, men of the crownlands sworn directly to capitol. Still there were others Aegon did not recognize quite so well such as a golden hand on red and black, black leopards, and a green dragon biting its own tail. Those men waited lazily at the front of the column, enjoying the shade below the fortress's high walls. Beside them, resting upon one's shoulder, the banner of a speared sun the symbol of house Martell.

 _'My mother's people.'_ Aegon noted the Dornishmen absentmindedly.

Bringing up the rear of the column was the banner of the golden lion of house Lannister. The house of Aegon's Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister. Beneath the banner of the West there were a half a dozen knights. Two wore the black and white boar of the Crakehalls, one the purple unicorn of house Brax, another a black manticore, a red ox, and finally a blue rooster.

They all snapped to attention when Aegon's herald declared the King's presence. In shining steel plate with bright and colorful raiments of all the colors of the rainbow and more, they made for a wondrous sight. These knights were the pride of the Seven Kingdoms. But they all paled before Aegon's own Kingsguard. Ser Oswhell Whent had taken his place beside his swornbrothers as they knelt before their king. The bold Barristan Selmy, the daring Daemon Jordayne, and of course the artful Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning. They all bowed before their king. Aegon made his way to his palanquin as his herald bid them all rise. The palanquin was an ornate affair of prized wood; intricately carved, painted black, with great gold gilding lining its borders alongside designs of red metal dragons. The inside was designed to seat two in snug comfort atop plush, feather filled velvet cushions.

Aegon stepped into his palanquin, taking a seat on the rear bench, his Uncle Viserys following close behind took the bench across from him. Ser Barristan grabbed a Targaryen banner and spurred his horse forward to lead the column, the remaining Kingsguard flanked their king.

The palanquin was lifted and the royal progression made their way through the immense curtain walls of Maegor's Holdfast.

'The main gate is more like a tunnel.' Aegon thought, peering through the checkered shutters of the litter. 'Twelve feet thick, how could anything get through these walls?'

Past the tunnels they crossed the drawbridge which hovered over a dry moat. A moat filled to the brim with large, wicked, sinister looking spikes. The moat where the old King Aerys had met his end.

"Off to see the evening's entertainment then?" Came a loud jape from the end of the bridge.

"Aye, it'll be a grand showing." Snickered a Dornishman with a thick accent. A few chuckles broke out at the head of the column as the two parties exchanged words.

As they drew up alongside the knight at the end of the bridge Aegon could now see him clearly to be another knight of the kingsguard, if his brilliant armor and white cloak where any indication.

"Your Grace." The knight bowed low as Aegon passed in his palanquin.

Aegon thought to reply, but Ser Arthur Dayne, sidling up alongside the knight, blocked his view.

"A true knight should not make japes at the expense of those about to die."Ser Arthur declared to his sworn-brother. "You best keep a respectful tongue, Ser Jaime."

Aegon could not see the knight's face nor could he hear any response, but he did hear a short murmur from the rear of the column. Some of the men seemed to take issue with Arthur's declaration, but Aegon did not understand.

_'It's the chivalrous thing to do, is it not? What knight would take issue with that?'_

"Come now Arthur, let's not lose our heads." Oswell Whent interjected. Another round of laughter erupted across the procession. After a few words, which Aegon could not make out, the two knights spurred their horses forward. Leaving behind Ser Jaime, who looked determined not to meet anyone's gaze. Aegon had not thought anyone could look quite so dejected in a suit of armor.

 _'Why had the knight taken so much offense? Arthur's words had not been too harsh.'_ Aegon did not care to ponder long, not when he was getting a chance to leave the castle.

The sun was now high in the sky, and the air inside the palanquin was growing stiflingly hot, but Aegon didn't mind. He liked the heat. They took the serpentine steps out of the lower bailey until they reached the courtyard of the middle bailey. They passed the royal sept and just past that the Maidenvault, where Baelor the Blessed, the Septon King, had confined his sisters to protect their innocence from the wickedness of the world and the lusts of men. Onwards they neared the Tower of the Hand and its small hall before passing under the walls of the Red Keep, the shade a welcome relief to the party that had barely begun its journey. They passed through yet another set of gates, entering the outer yard. There was more traffic here as nobles and individuals of import came to court. Many stopped to shout out well-wishes, some merely watched, other continued about their business.

Before long they were at the main gate. Those immense walls and massive drummed towers crowned with iron were all that separated them from the city of King's Landing. Beyond the walls lay a sprawling city filled with rich manses, timbered inns and taverns, businesses and market stalls, and some unfortunate slums.

Large bronze gates opened before them and the portcullis was raised. The party rode forth from the massive barbican onto the cobbled square before taking Shadowblack Lane down Aegon's high hill. A twisting winding road made the journey down unbearably long. Though Aegon did not mind the day's warmth, Viserys appeared quite uncomfortable. Even with the wind's occasional reprieve, Viserys' tunic was beginning to look worse for wear. The older prince picked at it unceasingly and fanned himself furiously. He complained, and loudly, of his growing thirst. On the way down Viserys called for drink not once or twice, but on three separate occasions. It got to the point that Viserys angrily bid the cupbearer to leave the skin of wine.

Aegon tried to take the Prince's mind off the weather by pointing out the Great Sept high on Visenya's hill. Aegon marveled at the impressive marble structure, domed, with seven crystal towers each holding bells of their own, a white marble plaza surrounded the structure and beyond that brilliant gardens. Upon its completion, the building had replaced the Starry Sept in Oldtown as the seat of the High Septon and the center of the Faith. Below it, lay entombed the Targaryen kings of Westeros. It amazed Aegon to no end, Viserys spared it but a glance.

When Aegon wondered aloud what the Starry Sept must be like, Viserys responded with a halfhearted "You'll see it one day, I'm sure."

As the party turned yet another bend in the winding road, Aegon turned to the North, to where the Dragonpit sat menacingly atop Rhaenys' hill. An immense and dominating structure that towered above Fleabottom. It had once been domed but had long ago collapsed into ruin. No one used it now, but in the distant past it had housed the royal dragons that Targaryens had ridden and used to forge the kingdoms of Westeros into one.

"I wish I could fly." Aegon said faintly.

"Fly?" Viserys questioned, distracted wiping his brow.

"On a dragon, like the old kings before the Dance. It would be wondrous." Aegon answered with more enthusiasm. "I could go on great adventures and see all the world-"

Viserys barked a harsh laugh. "And go on to fight the Others, Snarks, and Grumpkins alongside giants and the Children of the Forest." Viserys guffawed, diminishing Aegon excitement. "The dragons are dead and gone. Stop dreaming and dedicate yourself to your lessons."

Viserys' words did little to discourage Aegon. He did not break his gaze from the Dragonpit until they had reached the bottom of Aegon's hill and his view was blocked by buildings and the trees lining the Street of Seeds.

Aegon found the street to be rather pleasant, tall maple trees loomed over them, shading the road, and below there were flowers to line their way. There were not near so many as the gardens at the Red Keep, but the lavender, lilac, and bellflowers provided a charming scene all the same.

Shade spared them from the brunt of the day's heat but even so they had to pause the procession after a knight near the back had fallen from his horse.

Aegon was somewhat surprised when it happened. He had not thought it was hot enough for one to faint. Though when Aegon saw him he began to understand how the man could have succumbed to the heat. Aegon thought the man was a tad portlier than a knight ought to be.

 _'And that's being kind.'_ Aegon thought to himself. Indeed, the man had a pale and pinched face so plump that it almost appeared to be spilling from his helm. The man looked to be stuffed into his own armor.

Viserys did not seem surprised. "The man ought to have had more to drink before we set out." He explained, taking a swig out of his wineskin. "Not having enough water will do that to you on a hot day like today. And one so clearly unfit must be burning up under all that fat."

Aegon spotted a hint of black upon his chest before a servant rushed in front of the man to give him water. Ser Arthur quickly sent the man back to the castle alongside one of his fellows, the knight with the purple unicorn embroidered on his raiment.

Ser Arthur called for the party to begin to move once more. As they neared the great square the crowds grew thicker and their progress began to slow. Soon shouts were heard from Ser Barristan at the front of the column.

"Clear a path! Make way, make way for King Aegon!"

It was not long before they finally reached the main square. It lay between the great hills of King's Landing at the intersection of the Street of Silk and the Street of the Sisters. It was cobbled stone much like the square outside the Red Keep, only here it was far more worn and muddier. Aegon could not tell if the people had tracked dirt over the stones or if the weight of the crowds had pushed the stones into the mud. It was normally a busy market square filled with merchants peddling goods, Septons preaching the Faith, and mummers putting on shows. Today however it had been cleared for a different kind of show.

A raised pavilion lay near the center of the square, facing away from Aegon's Hill. Constructed so that the royal party could watch the proceedings in comfort and shade. Just in front of it was a raised platform atop of which lay the chopping block with a basket before it. The King's Justice, that is the royal executioner, sat beside the platform sharpening a large axe. His black hood already covering his face.

Aegon took the high seat at the pavilion, it was made so that his feet would not hang in the air. Viserys quickly took the seat to his right. Two of the Kingsguard stood vigil behind their King while the other two stood guard at the steps up into the pavilion.

"Thorne thought it would be best to hold the execution here in the main square." Viserys leaned in, raising his voice in order to be heard over the gathering crowd. "He wanted to make a show of it. You know, to deter any more traitors."

"The conventional decision." Arthur Dayne spoke up from behind them. "Though I find that making a show of men's deaths loses its effectiveness quickly."

"Let them come I say, no need to beat around the bush about it." Viserys carried on. "Better to have them out in the open so that we may destroy them and be done with it."

"It is good to be decisive, but one must do what they can to avoid provoking foes unnecessarily." Ser Barristan responded.

"There certainly are a lot of them." Aegon surveyed the crowd, growing somewhat nervous at the many looks that were centered on him. "Will I have to say anything to them?"

"To the people? Or to the traitors?" Viserys grunted.

"Either."

"No need to be nervous, your Grace. Lord Commander Thorne will bring them out, list their crimes, then they will be executed." Ser Barristan advised. "You need only bear witness and see that justice is done."

A horn sounded to announce the arrival of the prisoners, momentarily quieting the throng of smallfolk before they erupted once more into cry's and shouts. A parade of goldcloaks entered from the opposite side of the square, escorted between them were the two prisoners. The Foolhardy Fawn, Ser Barth Cafferen, and the Sleepy Lion, Ser Hugh Grandison.

The Fawn certainly did not make a fierce appearance. The beginnings of an unkempt fuzzy red beard had sprouted down his neck and his tunic was torn and soiled. He certainly didn't appear like much of a warrior, he looked to be on the verge of tears. The old man, however, looked even worse.

 _'Nearly about to die on his feet by the looks of it.'_ Aegon was sure. Indeed, two guards were holding him up more than escorting him. As if to emphasize his feebleness, Hugh's age shown clearly in his brittle, tangled grey hair, and the deep grooves lining his face. What might have been a proud beard was now torn and messy, what was left of it could not hide the terrible bruise erupting across his face for all to see.

'What fight could this old man offer?' Aegon thought, questioning his beaten appearance.

The prisoners were marched through the angry crowd, the guards shoving their way past. Insults and refuse both were hurled at the traitors as the goldcloaks shoved and dragged them through the square. At the head of the procession, Ser Alliser Thorne, the Lord Commander of the goldcloaks. He was a slim and sinewy man, with a hard look about him as his hand rested upon his sheathed sword. He wore ring mail below the gold wool cloak that distinguished every man of the city watch. Officers in the city watch would normally wear a black breastplate adorned with four golden disks, however as Lord Commander, Ser Alliser had elected to mark his with a silver flail on red with black rayonne, the symbol of house Thorne.

He walked up the steps of the platform followed closely by two goldcloaks who dragged up stumbling prisoners with them. The executioner was last, his axe glinted, blinding sunlight on black iron. Their escort surrounded the executioner's platform and pushed the smallfolk back.

"There's Lord Ronald Connington and his sons." Viserys said pointing to three men standing at the foot of the platform, distinguished by their fierce red hair. "He along with his cousin, Lord Jon Connington, were the ones that foiled this plot and arrested the traitors."

"Ronald arrested the man whose home he currently resides in." Ser Arthur observed. "The Sleepy Lion has fallen low. Ser Jaime replaced Harlan Grandison, the Greybeard's own uncle."

"They say Ronnet, that is Ronald's heir," Viserys said gesturing towards the tall youth standing beside his father with a far too proud look upon his face. "they say he dueled the Greybeard himself."

"The boy dueled this old man? That must have been a sight to see." Ser Barristan commented dryly. "He looks to be quite proud of his achievement."

Indeed, Ronnet was positively beaming. Standing tall and proud with a grin from ear to ear. Beside him stood another red-haired youth, when Aegon asked of him Viserys explained that the lad was Ronnet's younger brother Raymund.

"He doesn't look near as proud by half, and perhaps more than a little nervous." Aegon said, feeling that he could more than relate.

A trumpet sounded. "People of King's Landing." Ser Alliser began, bringing his hands up to quiet the crowd. "Your Grace." He gave a respectful bow to Aegon. "We are gathered here to bear witness to the execution of these vile and treasonous outlaws. To witness the death of those who have committed the most heinous of crimes." He gestured to the two men shackled beside him. "These wretches, Barth Cafferen and Hugh Grandison have broken their sacred vows of knighthood and tainted their once noble blood." Ser Alliser unrolled a scroll and began to read.

"Their crimes are many and the judges, ministers, and royal officers of the court of our good King Aegon, the sixth of that name, all agree there is no doubt as to the guilt of the two men before you. Ser Barth Cafferen and Ser Hugh Grandison conspired to break the King's peace." Cries flared up from the crowd, shouts calling them traitors and fools. "They, alongside Ser Richard Fell, gathered all manner of outlaws and traitors and, having done so, began to assault representatives of the Crown. Upon several occasions they stole taxes intended for the King's own treasury." At the mention of attacks on tax collectors a small wave of cheers clamored out from those assembled.

"To attack representatives of the King is an attack on the Kingdom, an attack on you! An attack on the King himself!" Ser Alliser shouted them down. "And the reach of this conspiracy did not end with banditry. These two, and their fellow cohorts, plotted to usurp titles and lands belonging to house Connington. These two planned to foment rebellion against their rightful sovereign. The conspirators even attempted to recruit the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Stannis Baratheon, in a bid to usurp the throne of their blessed king. Stannis Baratheon refused and informed Lords Jon and Raymund Connington of the plot against them. Thanks to the efforts of the Lords Connington, the plot was foiled." Ser Alliser gestured to the three standing before the stage. The Conningtons straightened up even further. Ronnet in particular seemed to be swelling up from praise, so much so that Aegon thought he might burst.

"That leads us to the business of the day. What is to be done with these traitors?" Ser Alliser questioned the crowd, he was answered with shouts of death. "For these most grievous crimes there can be only one punishment. Death." The crowd cheered ever louder. Ser Alliser raised his hands once more. "Silence now, silence!" He waited as order was restored. "In light of their... once noble birth, it has been decided they will not hang as any common outlaw, instead the method of execution shall be beheading!"

Another roar erupted from the assembled crowd. Ser Cafferen appeared to be breaking down into tears, he was saying something that Aegon could not make out over the crowd. Ser Alliser raised his hand once more to calm the crowd.

"Ser Barth Cafferen, have you any last words."

Barth fell to his knees sobbing, the chains binding his hands clanging as he clasped his hands together and begged. "Your Grace!" He choked out. "Please! I beg you, have mercy! Please! I merely wanted to see my rights restored, my father was the real traitor and he paid for it with his life. I never intended to see any harm come to you. Please spare me!" His eyes pleaded with Aegon.

Aegon froze, all eyes were on him. The traitors, the goldcloaks, the Connington's, and the crowd all looked to a boy for his judgement. Aegon withered under their gaze.

 _'What do I say?'_ Was the only thought that came to Aegon. He did not know what to say or what to do, other than stare dumbly back. Now he felt the day's heat.

Ser Alliser looked to him for a moment before glancing to something behind Aegon. Then he turned and, with a short word to one of his guards, they dragged Barth to the chopping block. Hugh could only stare at his feet.

Barth screamed, he was shoved down onto the block and held there as he struggled to get free. The axe was raised. "Oh, gods have mercy! Father protect me!" His breath was coming out in gasps now. "Please, please, please! I don't want to di-" Then the axe fell.

Aegon jerked, but did not turn away. He could not turn away from the disturbing sight. A man so suddenly stilled. The crowd roared its approval, cheering the traitor's death, but all Aegon could think of was how sick he felt.

When the cries began to die down Ser Alliser began again. "Ser Hugh Grandison, have you any last words."

"Oh, I have words." Old Ser Hugh began with a rasp, raising his head and shakily straightening up. "It's true, I broke my vows to the King. When the great war was done and King Rhaegar had finished stripping me of my castle and near all my lands I did swear to serve him loyally and to uphold his peace." Hugh barked bitterly. "Aye, I did. But they were vows said at the point of a sword. Don't any of you forget what the war was fought over!" Hugh's words began to ring louder and louder. "You all shout at me and call me traitor? The Mad King was the real traitor, a traitor to his own people!"

"Grandison, you will watch what you say!" Ser Alliser attempted to interject.

"Yes, I followed him, he was my king, but when I spoke with Robert Baratheon, I knew he was the better man." The crowd erupted, hurling insults, obscenities the likes of which Aegon had never once heard. Someone threw a rock, striking Hugh on the brow. The crowd pressed in on the ring of guardsmen surrounding the platform. "So, I turned my cloak to follow a true King and my father died for him! Aye, I swore to the dragons when the war was done, but what is left of the dragons now? Mewling little hatchlings! They're more serpents than dragons now!"

Someone in the crowd was shouting. "Shut him up, shut him up!"

"Hugh! You will be quiet!" Ser Alliser began yelling over the Greybeard. "Slynt, bring him down!"

The goldcloak behind Grandison kicked at his knee forcing him down before the block. But Grandison would not be silent.

"A woman rules us now, a damned dornish woman!" Ser Hugh could barely be heard over the crowd.

Shouts of "kill him!" and "take off 'is head" all but drowned out the Greybeard's words.

A large cut bled profusely over his left eye. Red covered near half the man's face, but he did not lessen in his shuddering outrage. "Or is it the Lion of Lannister? The man that hid away from the war like a fucking coward!" The axe was raised, Hugh turned his head. Aegon did not hear what else he said, before the axe fell. Aegon flinched once more.

The crowd was silent for a moment before a shout rang out. "Good riddance." And a murmur of chuckles passed through the audience.

"That's quite enough of that then." Viserys said from Aegon's side. The crowd surrounding them began to disperse, their entertainment over.

"Thus end all traitors." Ser Alliser stepped forward raising a roll of parchment. "Now then, hear this! A number of their fellow conspirators are still at large. Ser Richard Fell, known more commonly by the moniker Silveraxe, along with Ser Ulmer Cafferen assisted these rebels that now lie dead before you. The Crown has offered a reward of a hundred gold dragons for any information that leads to the capture of Richard Fell and another sixty gold dragons for information on Ser Ulmer Cafferen."

"It's time we returned to the keep." Viserys talked over the rest of Alliser's speech and rose to his feet. "Best gather the men, Daemon."

"Right away, my prince." Ser Daemon hopped to it, rousing the men. "Form the column men. Come on, get up! Are Crakehall boys taught to keep their king waiting? Move it, move it, form the column and raise those banners!"

A few knights of the Westerlands scrambled to their feet, one knocked over the stool he had sat on. Their escort mounted their horse and formed lines as they pushed their way into the crowd. Aegon and Viserys stepped down from their platform and entered their palanquin once more.

"There was more blood than I thought there would be." Aegon said after they had begun moving. "It was gruesome."

"It's a sight you'll see far more of I'll wager." Viserys smirked. "Just earlier you were pretending to be Daeron, you think he ever shied away from the sight of blood? If you want to be a warrior, you'll need to grow accustomed to it."

After a pause, Viserys continued. "Do you know why you were brought out to see that?"

"So I may be familiar with killing?" Aegon questioned.

"No, with justice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have some of the relationships developed, hints towards past events, Viserys being a bit overbearing and bitter, some shout-outs to Westeros' history and that of the AU, and some good bits establishing that the realm following Robert's Rebellion isn't too stable. 
> 
> I hope you all liked the story, I'll be following up with more chapters soon. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Everyone stay safe from Covid, wear your mask, keep 6 feet apart, wash your hands for twenty seconds, listen to doctor's recommendations, and so on.


	2. The Sun Speared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the sun falls, Aegon returns to the Red Keep. And the ghosts of the past still haunt those that remain.

The sun was falling as Aegon and his retinue made their way back up the Conqueror's high hill, which lanced up into the brilliantly colored sky. Clouds of red tore through sheets of blue in a beautiful display of the heavens. Aegon might have enjoyed it, had it not reminded him of the events of the day. A salty breeze blew in from the sea, cooling the air much to everyone's relief. Far off towards the horizon, storm clouds were beginning to roll over Blackwater Bay. Though conversations had sprung up following the end of the oppressive heat, Aegon couldn't keep his mind from the events of the day. Cafferen and Grandison had been so full of life, but now they were dead. Their misery, their anger, ended so easily. One quick swing of the axe and they were so suddenly stilled. The blood pouring onto the stage, so very red.

 _'I wish I hadn't seen it.'_ Aegon didn't think he could ever forget. He would dream of it that night. Viserys had claimed it was a necessary lesson. _'Well, he can be confident in a lesson learned.'_

Aegon had been so lost in thought he hadn't paid attention to what Viserys had been saying.

"You shouldn't spend so much time with them." Aegon caught the end of his uncle's thought.

"Who?" Aegon grasped at the distraction.

"Can you not hear?" Viserys growled. "The traitor's son and the bastard. Their company is unfit for a King."

"Robb and Jon?" Aegon questioned, troubled by his uncle's statement. "Robb is my friend and Jon is my own brother!" He protested.

"The Stark boy will turn on us one day, just as his father did. Rhaegar should never have pardoned him. All the death and destruction caused by the Starks, and what came of it?" Viserys ranted bitterly. "We lost my father, we lost Rhaegar, and what did we get in return? A ruined castle in a swamp." With that cowing Aegon, Viserys took a moment to collect himself before continuing on. "You'd spend your time better with your sister, or Dany, or any number of young nobles." Viserys added tersely. "A traitor's son is like to follow in their father's footsteps, just as with Cafferen and Grandison. And bastards are tainted, they are a treacherous sort. Blood will always tell."

"Blood will tell?" Aegon echoed, unsure. "But they have always treated me well. And my mother has always been welcoming of them."

"Your mother allows herself to be taken advantage of, she is a woman." Viserys declared matter-of-factly, before adding more tersely "Robb is here to keep his father in line. He has no choice but to remain on his best behavior. And that bastard? Who knows what ambitions may sprout from him? Daemon Blackfyre and his ilk were a plague on our family. No doubt Jon will grow to harbor the same ambitions, if the boy doesn't already. That Jon has Stark blood as well makes him doubly dangerous."

Aegon didn't know what to say to that. Had Robb been feigning friendship? He had always seemed genuine. But Jon was a bastard, and Viserys' words were piercing. Aegon grasped for a way to refute his uncle. The litter reached the top of the hill and soon entered the Red Keep.

"Surely not every bastard will go bad." Aegon began hesitantly. "Jon could remain true, just like- "The young king skipped a beat. Like who? "Bloodraven?"

"The old Hand likely killed the first Aerys." Viserys dismissed Aegon's choice as they neared Maegor's Holdfast and its moat of iron thorns. "And more than a few others in line for the throne. It's said he practiced dark magics, though he was like to practice more mundane evils. There's a reason he was sent to the Wall."

There had to be someone. Aegon furrowed his brow and wracked his brain. Seeking some example, he was unwilling to admit that evil lurked in the soul of his kin. There must be one- then he had it! 'The Dance!' Aegon seized the thought. "Addam Velaryon, the dragon rider!" Aegon relaxed. "You can't claim he wasn't a loyal man."

"The Dance of Dragons was-" Viserys began, an argument on his tongue before giving in to his nephew. Though still unwilling to concede his point, he added "But that's one good man among a hundred. Daemon, Aegor, Hugh and Ulf, Bloodraven, Gaemon and Trystane. You can nev-"

A scream rang out. Shouts erupted across the King's escort. "By the Seven." Someone gasped.

"Get the King inside!" Barristan shouted.

"With me!" Ser Oswell Whent barked. "Shield his Grace from view!"

Viserys scrambled out of the litter to see what was the matter. Aegon was about to follow when Ser Arthur rode up and slammed the palanquin's door shut, nearly trampling over Viserys in the process. "Go!" Arthur yelled. His steed soon blocked Aegon's view, but not before the young king saw a most grisly sight. There, in the moat, not far from the very bridge Aegon was being carried across, was a woman impaled upon the spikes.

Aegon was rushed inside, through the gatehouse at the opposite end of the moat. They passed the fat knight, as he ran to bridge. His aunt Daenerys, though she was younger than he, ran out of the keep with her attendants as Aegon's guard set down the palanquin. The young princess called out as Aegon exited. "What happened, what's all the fuss about?"

"Someone fell into the moat." Aegon said shakily, eyes wide. Though it was out of view, Aegon could not help but see the grisly image in vivid detail. The red stone of the courtyard could only remind him of more blood.

Oswell Whent cursed beside him. "Hoped you hadn't seen that." He muttered. "Come along inside, quickly now, the both of you."

Following the shouts, more people streamed out of the keep as Aegon and his aunt were ushered into the royal apartments.

"Watch over the children, I'll head back and find out what happened." Ser Barristan gave a short look to Oswell Whent before leaving.

Soon enough they were joined Jon and Robb and Rhaenys. Jon and Robb kept peppering Oswell with questions. "What happened? Why are we here? Can we practice swords?"

"Settle down, I don't know what's happened." Ser Oswell said with an exasperated look. "Someone fell into the moat. Barristan and the others are trying to figure out what happened."

"Are they okay?" Rhaenys chimed in.

"Can we go see?" Added Robb.

"No, no!" Ser Oswell raised his voice, growing frustrated before grasping on a way to distract them. "Look, there must be something that would interest you."

"Tell us about the war." Aegon jumped in with a shaky voice, seizing on the moment. "Tell us about my father, and Lyanna. Tell us the beginning."

Jon perked up at the mention of his mother. Most in the castle refused to talk about her, the other woman. Jon's mother, whom died giving birth to him.

The white knight looked uncertain for a moment, but relented. "I suppose you know the story of the tourney at Harrenhal? You've heard the songs." The children nodded as Oswell pulled out a chair. "The story goes, my brother Walter, may he rest in peace, hosted the tournament in honor of his daughter. What the stories don't say, is that it was sponsored by Rhaegar. He wanted to get the lords together, to convince them to force King Aerys to abdicate."

Aegon interrupted. "Why would he do that? My grandfather was-."

"Not as good a man as we try to portray him nowadays; he... wasn't the man he used to be." Oswell continued. "You heard Grandison earlier today, they came to call him the Mad King for a reason. The burnings he ordered, the cruelties he committed even against his own wife, the massacre he carried out in imitation of the Lord Lannister, it was becoming too much for the realm to bear."

"Why would he do those things?" Rhaenys questioned, picking at the threads of her dress.

"King Aerys was once a better man, but he'd always been," Oswell paused as he leaned back, "impatient, quick to anger. In his later years, something terrible gripped him... and it never let go."

"Was it the madness?" Rhaenys an edge of nervousness entered her voice.

Oswell gave her a look for a moment before replying. "Perhaps there was always something within him, something that revealed itself at Duskendale. Anyway, I'll leave Barristan and Pycelle to teaching you of Aerys' reign."

"And the tourney?" Jon egged on. No doubt wishing to move on from the uncomfortable topic.

"That's where they met, Rhaegar and Lyanna." Oswell continued solemnly, shifting in his seat. "Most would tell you that Rhaegar won Lyanna with a song or that the lady's beauty caught his eye, but it was more than that." Oswell gave a soft smile. "There was a knight at that tourney, they wouldn't show their face, even despite the King's demands. Aerys had thought it was Ser Jaime, who'd been made kingsguard at the start of the celebrations but was ordered to attend Rhaella and the young Prince Viserys. Rhaegar and Aerys' knights were all made to unmask the mystery knight. The story goes, nothing but the knight's shield could be found, but Rhaegar found the knight. Unmasked, the knight of the Laughing Tree was none other than Lyanna Stark."

"She played the part of a knight?" Jon asked, a measure of awe in his voice.

"A pretty good one too." Oswell continued. "She challenged three knights; a Frey, a Blount, and a Haigh if I recollect correctly. Defeated each in turn and, rather than demand a ransom, she made the knights teach their squires honor. The squires had accosted one of the Stark's bannermen early in the celebrations, and Lyanna couldn't let that be."

"And my father?" Rhaenys urged. "Did they…"

"Their relationship hadn't yet become what it would." Oswell picked up as Rhaenys trailed off. "But Rhaegar couldn't let such a noble deed go unrewarded. He had the brilliant idea of crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty, bestowing the tournament's honors upon her in full view of everyone, but with none the wiser." Oswell gave a laugh at that. "Made a number of people furious though. Though the events of the tourney did grant something of a mutual respect and admiration between the two."

"But they hadn't fallen in love?" Jon asked, caught in the story he'd wanted to learn for so long.

"They wrote to each other frequently; their relationship grew from this. Lyanna was trapped in a betrothal to Lord Robert Baratheon, and had a great many misgivings. That Rhaegar was-, in a similarly arranged marriage, gave them something to bond over." Oswell shifted uncomfortably at the topic of Rhaegar's marriage, perhaps mirroring Aegon's own unhappiness at the unfaithfulness towards his mother. "But their relationship was forged in a dangerous fire."

"You mean the war?" Rhaenys suggested.

"I mean Aerys was never one to let go of a perceived enemy." Oswell corrected. "The King had already named the mystery knight traitor, and the signs were there to make the connection to the Starks. The Weirwood on her shield, the knights she challenged whose squires had accosted a Northman, that same Northman then joining the Starks through the festivities. If Rhaegar could determine her identity, so to could another. When King Aerys learned-."

A knock on the door interrupted them.

Ser Barristan strode into the room with a grim look upon his face.

"Who was it? How did it happen?" Ser Oswell cast a glance towards the children, before lowering his voice. "Perhaps the children shouldn't…" He trailed off.

"They would learn soon enough, I'm sure." Barristan began. "And the Hand has made it clear, he does not want the children blind to the wickedness of the world." His voice came out tersely at that, it seemed he had more to say but was keeping it to himself.

"So?" Oswell urged him on, putting to word what Aegon could not.

"One of Elia's handmaidens, Lady Leyla Hightower." Barristan began with sadness in his old eyes. "From those we've questioned, it would appear that she had become most distressed following an affair with Ser Triston of Tally Hill. She was promised to Ser Jon Cupps, you see. It appears she jumped."

Oswell sucked in a breath. Daenerys came forward, a puzzled look on her face. "Why would she do that?"

"It is difficult, to lose a love." Oswell answered. "Even more so if others shame you for that love." Turning to Barristan with a question. "Anyone there when it happened? Anyone try and stop her?"

"No one, unfortunately." Barristan added. "Most everyone had taken shelter from the days heat inside. Jaime covered the bridge this morning, but once we were gone, his guard was unnecessary. And, of course, Parmen was charged with looking after Princess Rhaenys."

"Perhaps we should get these children their food, and hasten them off to bed?" Oswell urged more than questioned Barristan.

"I thought to sup with my mother tonight." Aegon said offhandedly, still trying to understand this most horrifying event.

Barristan opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted when the door burst open, Ser Gerold Hightower strode into the room. The White Bull's gaze settled upon Aegon and Rhaenys. His normally fierce gaze carried a crack, a glimmer perhaps, of sadness.

"Lord Commander, I'm sorry for your loss." Ser Oswell started; sadness etched his face. "Leyla-"

"Bring the children quickly." Gerold cut him off. "Lady Elia's condition has worsened. The Grandmaester fears she might not last the night."

"No." Was all Aegon remembered saying.

* * *

"Surely there must be something you can do?" Aegon stamped his foot, all but shouting.

Aegon and his brother and sister had been moved to the royal bedchamber, where Elia Martell lay, suffering in her most recent illness. The room was hot, and the smell of sickness hung heavy in the air.

"A-apologies your Grace, there is nothing more that can be done." Grand Maester Pycelle creaked out as his eyes fell away from his patient. The wrinkles of his ancient face seemed to deepen in his anxiousness. "The fever burned right through her-and with her health already so poor she... She s-should be given sweetsleep, to ease her suffering. It's time you made your peace."

With that the old maester turned to concoct the potion, his robes swaying behind him. Though only a few rays of light from the dying sun filtered into the room the roaring light of the room's hearth shone brightly on his velvet robe which appeared the deepest red as if fresh blood flowed from his ermine collar. There had been too much death this day.

Aegon stared at his back, bewildered. "No! You have to help her!" Aegon looked to Barristan, to Hightower, Jordayne and Whent. But there, he could find only sympathy.

Rhaenys gave a sob; she had been attempting to hold in her tears and the dam had finally burst. Her young brother Jon grabbed her hand to comfort her, though he was too young to fully understand, he knew well enough.

"Pycelle some water, please... my throat is so dry." A weak voice, ragged and hoarse, called forth from the bed. Silken sheets drenched in sweat clung to the frail form of the Princess of Dorne, Queen Dowager and Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Elia Martell. Aegon's own mother, on her deathbed.

The old maester produced a glass and with unsteady hands filled it from a flagon. "Ser Arthur, would you assist Elia, help her up so that she may drink." The old man called to the silent sentry at the door.

In strode one of the white cloaks standing vigil at the door, the shining silver steel armor of the Kingsguard gleamed in the flickering light of the hearth. Upon reaching the bedside the knight removed his helm revealing Arthur Dayne's silver-gold locks and violet eyes. He bent to raise her up, placing a pillow at her back so that she may sit comfortably.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, regret marring his features. "My lady, if there was anything more I could do, I would."

"You have... already done enough." Elia spoke her breathing slow and irregular.

"Egg. . . Rhae come here." Elia Martell whispered out upon sating her thirst.

Elia's two young children swiftly moved to the bed, Rhaenys grabbed her mother's hand while she tried to dry her tears.

"Momma, please-you're not gonna die. You can't die! I won't allow it." Aegon declared his voice shaking.

"We need you. You're all we have, with you gone then- "Rhaenys stopped herself, choking up. "Who will take care of us?"

"You will need to look out for one another… and your brother Jon." Elia whispered the last with a sad smile. "The Kingsguard will keep you safe, promise me you will look after each other."

"We will." Aegon promised, sniffling.

"There is so much I wanted to teach you, of our people, of your family. So much of your lives I wanted to see." Tears shined in Elia's eyes. "Those future days are ones I will never see. Aegon... please, make your peace with Viserys. I know you two have your troubles. House Targaryen must stand together to survive, for divided it will fall. Your future will not be an easy one."

"I will." Aegon promised once more, though this time unsure of himself. He could no longer meet Elia's gaze.

Elia's gaze flickered away a moment before she beckoned Aegon closer. "Trust not the Lion, the Lord Lannister has only ever had his own interests at heart. The Tyrells as well, you must be wary of them." She whispered into the boy's ear before laying back, clutching at her stomach over sweat drenched sheets. Another pain from the awful sickness that plagued her.

"Now then, bring me the elixir Grand Maester... I've had enough of this pain." Elia stated, massaging her temples.

She looked upon her children with grief marring her face. "Know that I love you all dearly, dry your tears, I'm going to the Mother now. The Seven shall care for me."

"Mother..." Rhaenys sobbed out, tears streaming down her face.

"I am so sorry, my lady... Forgive me." Pycelle brought forth the draught and Elia drank deep.

"...Momma" Aegon's voice cracked.

"Goodbye, my children. Worry not, I'm off to see your father... I love you."

And with her final breath before the sleep took her.

"Rhaegar-"

The sun set on the dragon's keep, and the world was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally planned to be part of the first chapter, but I figured that one was getting a little too long. As a stand alone I think this still works rather well. A bit of Viserys not being so happy about Jon and Robb, a fun little story about what happened with Rhaegar and Lyanna, a tragedy for the kingsguard, and Elia's passing. That scene with Elia was one of the first I had thought of, all those years ago (sometime around 2015/2016) when I conceived this story. Poor kids lost their mother, and now the regent for an unstable kingdom is lost and needs to be replaced.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! I definitely enjoyed writing this one.
> 
> Some crazy news over the past couple days, it's wild. What's happening to the president right now should be a clear signal to everyone to follow the guidelines about Covid-19 given by medical experts. Everyone stay safe!


	3. The Rising Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunted by dark dreams, Aegon awakens to a world without his mother. The people of King's Landing mourn their queen's passing, Aegon and his siblings most of all. 
> 
> Only time will tell how the loss of the king's mother and regent will impact Westeros.

Aegon was on a calm beach, King's Landing loomed in the distance. The full moon, a bright pearl, shown through the night sky and illuminated the shore in a soft light. The beach was normally a bright place, full of warmth and security, and filled with life and laughter. But that was when his mother was alive. Now it felt cold and empty.

Aegon was not alone, though he felt it in his heart. His family were arrayed on the beach, though missing a usual member. Rhaenys was walking down the sandy shore, Viserys played in the water alongside Daenerys, and Jon sat beside Aegon. The two of them had halfheartedly built a sandcastle, like they used to do. They kept building and building, the castle growing taller and taller. The winds were picking up, and Aegon could not stop thinking. Of his mother, of heads falling and the bloodied bodies they left behind, of falling maidens and suddenly it was Aegon that was falling. He stared up into a sky that had grown so much darker. The storm clouds had rolled in and now began to blanket the moon. The wind grew ever stronger. A storm, long brewing, began to unleash its fury. The wind roared as Aegon climbed to his feet.

A powerful gust toppled him, and their castle soon followed. Jon was half buried under the sand and Aegon scrambled to help. But to his dawning horror, Aegon came to realize that the more he dug the more there was to dig. Soon enough he could no longer see his brother.

"Help!" Aegon called out, digging furiously. "Help me!" He looked about, but the guards and attendants had disappeared.

"Rhaenys!" The King cried, but she had been swallowed up by sandy dunes.

Desperately, Aegon cast his gaze towards the sea. There, alone, he saw Viserys standing on the water -staring back at him. Dany was gone.

The storm screamed at him as Aegon ran to his uncle, so far out to sea. The distance seemed to stretch ever further as Aegon ran. His limbs felt heavy, not all there. And to his horror, the sea itself was drawing further away from him.

_'I just have to reach Viserys.'_ Aegon thought to himself. _'If I can grab his hand...'_

Aegon willed his limbs to move. Closer, closer. It seemed like ages. Viserys held out his hand, a sad smile upon his face. Aegon stretched out his arm, reaching so desperately for his uncle's hand.

But now the water was coming for him, a wall of water as high as Aegon's Hill. It surged over Aegon, swallowing him up and forcing him back. The water whirled around him, blocking out all other sensation. End over end, Aegon tumbled, seeing nothing and hearing nothing but the crashing water that battered and pushed and pulled. He soon lost his sense of direction and, had you asked him then, he could not have told you which way was up. Panic settled into him then, the need to breath growing ever more urgent as his lungs burned. By some miracle, Aegon broke through to the surface. Desperately gasping for breath, Aegon cried out for Viserys. Quickly losing hope, Aegon cast his gaze across the dark and tumultuous waves, but his uncle was nowhere to be seen. Aegon found himself then in the middle of the sea, he no longer knew if he was far from land or if the land had been conquered by the sea. The gale tore the air asunder, lightning cracking in the sky above, then another wave slammed into Aegon and he began to sink. It was calm under the sea.

As Aegon was drawn further under the water everything seemed to still, the world under the sea was lifeless. The stillness seemed to frighten Aegon even more than the violent waves. It had given him time to think. Viserys was gone, Daenerys was gone, Rhaenys was gone, and Jon was gone. Everyone was gone, perhaps Aegon was too. It was so cold, shiveringly cold, freezing in the vast ocean. Aegon was ready to be gone. He allowed himself to sink deeper into the dark abyss. He stared into it the shadowy depths as they encompassed him, and it stared back.

A terrible, massive, monstrous eye opened up below him. It focused only on him. The panic burned in Aegon once more. Aegon tried to turn and flee, but it felt as though his limbs were weighted with lead. The great eye followed him as he sank, its tendrils dimly silhouetted as it moved through the vast still ocean. As it neared him however, it hesitated. And turned. Aegon turned as well, and stared, beyond the leviathan, into the immense and impenetrable depths. There it manifested.

Silent but screaming, it emerged from its cloak of shadow. Some great and terrible other. A sickly and webbed hand reached for Aegon.

Terrified, Aegon watched the grotesque limb inch towards him. They saw him. Aegon found himself then, how he found the will he did not know. But he kicked then, and clawed upwards. Harder and harder he struggled to reach the surface, the cold making his limbs sluggish and unresponsive. The otherworldly terror followed slowly, but unceasingly.

They were all around him now. Hands grabbing and clawing at him, scratching at him and dragging Aegon back down. Aegon's lungs burned for air, he could hold his breath no longer. He screamed. And water rushed in, drowning him while he was surrounded by the others.

Aegon awoke in a cold sweat. The taste of salt upon his tongue.

* * *

The morning went by quickly. Aegon was draped in mourning clothes of black, the servants had meant to dress him in a more extravagant black velvet doublet with ruby teardrops, but Aegon had opted for something simpler. Today was not a day for extravagance, today was a solemn day. Ser Barristan and the rest of the Kingsguard had gathered to escort the royal family to Elia's funeral. The great bells of Baelor's Sept were ringing to call congregants to Elia's funeral service. Quietly, Aegon and his escort traveled out into the keep's courtyard, where the pride of Westeros had gathered. Nobility and knights from what must have been near every house in the Seven Kingdoms had gathered here for the procession to Baelor's Sept. Near the gate were even Seven of the Most Devout, set apart by their silver vestments and crystal crowns. They stood alongside a number of their attendants near the head of the procession. They bore the banners of the Faith, depicting the seven-pointed star over a rainbow of colors.

"Your palanquin is ready, your Grace, princess." A servant held the door of the riding box and helped Rhaenys climb in, though Aegon paused. "Your Grace?" The servant gave him a questioning look.

"I think I will walk today." A few gasped at that.

"But, your Grace, you will dirty your fine clothes. The walk," the man stared, aghast, and unsure of what to say, "it is too far. You will surely be too tired."

"A minor discomfort." Aegon's shoes shined black. "Today I mourn my mother," Aegon's voice shook, "perhaps, through this small trial, the gods may show her favor."

"Queen Elia was a most pious women, she will surely be in the god's favor. You need not-"

"Enough! I have made my decision." The young king glared at the man, before walking up to Ser Gerold Hightower. "My Lord Commander, I hope you will grant me this inconvenience. We have both lost someone close to us."

"I understand." He said solemnly. "We're are, all of us, at your command, your Grace. You are our king." Ser Gerold handed the reigns of his horse to his squire and stood before the gathered knights at the head of the procession. "Shall we depart?"

Aegon looked out the castle gates, and thought of the journey from the other day. _'This will be yet further. And on foot as well.'_

He knew the walk would take much out of him. The sun was out and the day was beginning to warm, though it felt cooler now to Aegon, it would surely blaze soon enough. The walk, and the vigil that Aegon had planned to carry through the night, now became a dreaded prospect. It would be no small task for one so young.

But then, when the king thought his will might break, a hand wove its way into his. Beside him was his little brother Jon.

"May I join you, Egg?" Jon asked, his voice was small, and his eyes were filled with worry.

Aegon gave a slight smile at that, taking comfort in his brother's sympathy. "Of course, Jon. Ser Gerold, let us proceed!"

"Right! Horses to the flanks!" The White Bull began shouting orders, reorganizing the line as they began their slow walk down Aegon's Hill.

_'If Jon can bring himself to join me, then I cannot falter.'_

Aegon had made the trip down Aegon's Hill many times, but never under such circumstances. The Hill felt higher, steeper. Aegon dreaded the destination, an anxiousness filling him with each step. The world felt less vibrant now, the day seemed darker, as if the sun itself was mourning Elia's passing. Aegon had not noticed them reaching the bottom of the hill, and was surprised to find himself walking through the Street of Seeds. The green trees and striking flowers now did little to lift Aegon's mood. The common folk of the city had lined the streets to gawk at the procession. Some among them even joined the walk to the Sept, though Aegon's escort took care that none breach the line. Mourners called out to Aegon and Rhaenys, expressing sympathy for a queen that had cared for them these past years.

"She was… most kind, your mother." Jon spoke up, barely loud enough to be heard over the bustling procession.

Aegon sighed. "She was."

"I'm sorry that… she… well. She was always kind to me." Jon looked away. "Even though she didn't have to be. The stories she'd tell us, the games we played, the trips we took, those were wonderful."

Aegon gave Jon's hand a light squeeze, though he could not respond. He thought back to his dream, and the castle that he and Jon had built, the castle that had buried his brother. The dream left a sour note on Aegon's memories.

By the time they reached the main square Aegon's legs ached. He could feel the sores and calluses forming on his feet already. Aegon feared for his feet in the coming service, and the demand that his approaching vigil would place upon him. If his feet hurt so already, he could only imagine what his little brother was going through. Aegon looked to Jon, the smaller boy looked even more haggard than Aegon felt. In the middle of the square, Aegon paused the procession for a moment. He looked to Baelor's Sept, gleaming white high above them atop Visenya's Hill. The seven crystal bell towers slowly echoing their call to service.

"You can ride in the palanquin with the others." Aegon urged. "You don't need to share my trial; you don't need to prove anything."

Jon shifted uneasily on his sore legs, he looked like he wanted to collapse more than anything.

"I do. You need-." He paused, looking frustrated. "Let's just go."

And so, they began their trek onwards. Turning onto the Street of Sisters, they began their climb up to Baelor's Great Sept.

On their way up Visenya's Hill, the Sept loomed over them as they grew closer. Aegon's legs burned under him, his feet throbbed and flared in pain with every step. Jon was breathing heavily and Aegon himself was not much better.

'This must have been how Baelor felt on his journey through Dorne.' Aegon thought briefly, before dismissing the idea. Baelor's journey to Sunspear was far longer, and Aegon had footwear. Baelor's journey through Dorne had seen a peace forged that would in time see the Seven Kingdoms united in truth. Baelor had braved a pit of vipers to rescue his cousin Aemon, the Dragonknight. Those trials were greater than Aegon's, but Aegon didn't wish for any great achievement. He didn't need to end a war or make a daring rescue. He just wanted his mother to be at peace.

It was not too long before they crested the hill and entered the great marble plaza. The tall statue of King Baelor erected in the center of the plaza, gazed down upon them. The most pious king still watching over his people to this day. A large crowd had gathered outside the Sept, to mourn the passing of Queen Elia, and to listen to Septons echo the sermon prepared by the High Septon.

The crowd parted for the procession of nobles for which the interior of the Sept had been reserved. Aegon sat at the entrance to the Hall of Lamps for the ceremonial cleansing, in which his feet were washed. It was a relief to rest, even for a short time. The cool water was a blessing that soothed his sharply burning feet. As other nobles followed the same process, Aegon looked over to his brother. Jon had shared in Aegon's pain, it was kind, it was brave, and Aegon felt a measure of pride for his brother. When the Septon attending to him rose and beckoned to Jon to take Aegon's place, Aegon stood and waved the man off.

"Sit, Jon." Aegon commanded. And as his brother took to the marble bench, Aegon kneeled before him. To the surprise and dismay of those around them, Aegon began to remove Jon's shoes.

"King Aegon!" Aron Santagar interrupted, he was a Dornishman, and head of Elia's guard. "Surely you don't mean to wash… _his_ feet."

"The Septons say we should have humility." Aegon replied simply, knowing that the knight had never liked Jon.

"But- your Grace, he is-" Santagar sputtered.

"There'll be no more arguing today, ser." Ser Gerold cut in gruffly. "The king has made his decision."

Aegon silently thanked Gerold. Ladling some water from the basin, the young king began to wash his brother's feet. Aegon winced at the redness and growing callouses and blisters upon Jon's feet. His little brother was not used to such long walks, and had not worn appropriate shoes.

"Thank you, Jon." Aegon said quietly. "For doing this with me, it helped."

The young king had been through much in recent days. No doubt his sister was feeling the loss of their mother just as harshly, as she had kept to herself since their mother's passing.

The bells had rung the night Elia had died, and had continued to ring throughout the following day. Word was spread to the gathered people at Baelor's Sept, that had been some time ago.

It had made it so difficult for Aegon to rest that day, the fresh memory of his mother's loss along with the constant reminder of the bells.

Now, on the day of the funeral, Aegon felt the exhaustion acutely. Sleep wasn't easy anymore, and the nightmares made it worse, Aegon hoped that standing vigil after the service would settle his thoughts and bring some measure of peace to his mother and himself.

Aegon had never been very devout. He had read the words of the holy book, of course, and listened to the sermons, but they had never meant too much to him. They were all too often merely dry words from an age past that older folks liked to drone on about. Lately however, Aegon had begun to pray more often. First for his mother to return, then for her peace.

They entered then, passing through the faint glow of lamps to the central atrium. The shining light of the day's sun shone down through massive windows of stained glass depicting the Seven and the heroes of the Faith. The great dome of glass and gold above them shined as bright as the Seven-Pointed Star itself. Aegon stiffened as he looked upon his mother, laid out upon a raised marble bier. Her skin was paler, now that her life was gone. Aegon tried not to look at her as he took his place at the front of the benches. The High Septon, in his voluminous white robes and his gold and crystal crown, stepped forward to begin the proceedings.

"We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Queen Elia Martell. Wife of King Rhaegar, now passed. Mother of King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys." As the High Septon began listing off more distant relatives, Aegon cast he gaze about the room. Rhaenys sitting beside him, her mourning dress already somewhat torn, she was still picking at a loose thread even now. Each member of Aegon's kingsguard flanked him and the royal family today. There was also a host of notable Dornish Lords and knights whom comprised Elia's household and advisors, the Santagars, Lord Jordayne, and a number whom Aegon had not managed to memorize as of yet. Across from them was Lord Tywin, the tall and imposing head of house Lannister, and Aegon's own Hand of the King. His bushy whiskers framed the flanks of his face, highlighting a face that had never smiled. Even now, Tywin did not look to be in mourning, he still had his usual hard look about him. Even his men, perhaps, did not look near as mournful as they should.

_'Mother had never liked him.'_ Aegon recalled. And indeed Aegon himself did not appreciate the times they'd met. When Tywin's gaze fell upon Aegon, Aegon looked away.

A great host of local lords were scattered across the atrium as well. Lord Velaryon and Lord Rykker, standing as far away from Tywin as he could, were among them.

"Queen Elia, alongside the most wise members of the King's council, led us out of tumultuous times following the great war that took our Kings Aerys and Rhaegar. She, with the Seven's guidance, helped stitch this realm back together, after the swords of brothers had clashed." The High Septon continued. "She was a Faithful wife and loving mother, charitable to the people and the orphans of King's Landing. She built on the peace won by King Rhaegar on the banks of the Trident."

A member of the Most Devout stepped forward and handed a thick book over to the High Septon. As the leader of the Faith began to read from its holy book, Aegon's mind wandered, he would not later remember much of what the High Septon said, so lost in grief as he was. No longer would he see his mother's smile in the morning. No longer would he feel her warm embrace. No longer would he hear her voice, her laughter and wisdom. All of it would be in the past now, in fading memories.

"The Father above shall judge Queen Elia justly. May His divine wisdom see that she rests in peace, may He protect Elia's children and impart them with the wisdom to rule the Seven Kingdoms justly. The Mother above shall join hands with Elia now, and together they will watch over her children. May the Warrior guard us and lend us the strength we need to face the trials of the future. The Smith assist us in our labors, and see to our prosperity. The Maiden protect and give courage to Princess Rhaenys, and to all women in need. The Crone guide us, may She light the way forward. The Stranger now takes Elia to the heavens. Let us all pray, for the prosperity and good health of King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, and the Seven Kingdoms."

As the High Septon ended his sermon, the Most Devout led the Song of the Seven. When the songs finally ended, and the crowd began to exit, a procession of notables made their way over to the royal family to express their condolences. Aegon hollowly thanked each in turn.

"Your Grace," Aron Santagar approached alongside his brother and niece, "my family and I offer our condolences. I must also apologize as I will be taking my leave from the capital to bring Queen Elia back to Dorne."

Aegon frowned. It tore at his heart that his mother was not to be buried alongside his father's ashes below Baelor's Sept. Dorne is so far away, it would not be easy for the young king to visit and mourn his mother. As the Santagar girl was saying her goodbyes to a tearful Rhaenys, Aegon's gaze caught on the pride of house Lannister and the approaching Hand.

"I'm sorry for your loss, your Grace, princess." Ser Jaime Lannister addressed the two, solemnly. "I know the pain of losing a mother at such a young age. If there is anything I can do, you need only ask it of me."

"You do yourself credit, to so diligently devote yourself to your duty. The realm will do its utmost to see that King Aegon is cared for." The Hand of the King and Lord of the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister cut in. "Your Grace, your mother has passed. In her stead, I have assumed Queen Elia's place as regent, under my authority as your Hand and with the assent of the small council. Once your vigil is complete, you will be expected to attend the meetings of your small council, the royal stamp of approval will be necessary on a number of documents and it's high time you learned to rule properly."

Aegon furrowed his eyebrows and thanked the Lord of the West, as he did so many others. Lord Trebor Jordayne, a somewhat distant kinsman Daemon's, approached alongside another man.

"King Aegon, I am so sorry about your loss." Trebor began.

"Your Grace, I am Lord Tremond Gargalen. I wish we could have met under less sorrowful circumstances. Queen Elia was gracious in rule and kind to her people. She will be missed dearly."

"On the behalf of your uncle, Prince Doran, we will do our utmost to defend your interests." Trebor added. "Lord Tywin is a capable enough man, but he is of the West, and we all know the things he has done."

"He does not have your family in mind, only his own." Gargalen all but spat.

Court rivalries were not something new to Aegon, and so Aegon prepared to voice his thanks for their dedication to the Crown. A loud jingling of chains caught Aegon's attention however. The Grandmaester had entered the Sept and shuffled quickly over towards the tall and imposing figure of Tywin Lannister.

"My Lord Hand. I come bearing most terrible news." Pycelle huffed out, shakily handing over a small letter. "Balon Greyjoy has risen in rebellion, Lannisport is burned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we introduce the story's true antagonist, long walks! This seems like a fun chapter to me, I did enjoy writing it. Maybe still a little on the dry side of things, but I blame my years of writing scientific and historical papers for that. I just can't seem to help myself from pointing out some snippet of asoiaf history or admiring some architecture, though I'm unapologetic about that sort of thing. Although, I can work on characterization and dialogue. Still, we have some fun bits of friction between the Dornish nobles and Tywin, a little brotherly bonding between Aegon and Jon, an emotional and physical struggle for Aegon (and Jon) over the chapter, some cool world building, Balon doing what he does worst, and even a neat little dream sequence at the beginning.
> 
> Time sure has been flying by, we're well into October now. I'm planning for my future, putting up Halloween decorations, buying fun Fall treats, etc. I hope you all enjoy the season, or its opposite if you're in a corresponding hemisphere. I hope you like this new chapter, too!


	4. The Darkest Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the outbreak of war and the ensuing uproar at court, Jon Snow attempts to find a measure of peace within the castle. However, in the dark corridors of the Red Keep there may lie dangers more threatening than Balon's war in the Sunset Sea.

The court had been in an uproar the last few days, a multitude of strangers had been coming and going from the capital, ravens were streaming in and flying out even more than usual. With dark wings came dark words. The fleet at Lannisport went down in flames in its entirety, much of the port had been ravaged by the rebels and the ensuing inferno. From Fair Isle to Crakehall, lords were asking for assistance. Fears of further attacks on other coastal settlements was spreading like wildfire. It frightened Jon, to think that the war may spread across Westeros. But it was even more saddening to think of all those harmed by such wanton violence and destruction. Why did this happen? Why has Balon and his family taken up the sword against us?

  
Jon had tried to flee the uproar of the court in the castle's great and extensive gardens, but he merely found himself alone with these thoughts. Thoughts of war, and a sadder thought. Jon was reminded of the last time he had enjoyed the garden, and the terrible night that day had brought. Jon wished the others were here to keep his mind off things. The moment Aegon had returned from his vigil he had been squirreled away by the Hand to attend to the Small Council. Robb had been taken aside by the Lord Hand as well, so Jon had been left to his own devices. A small saving grace was that Viserys was more distracted now, apparently preparing himself to go off to war and return a hero. It was unfortunate however, that was not to last.

  
As Jon came upon the grove of dragon's breaths, those lovely deep red flowers, so too did he come upon Viserys. They saw each other, and Viserys' eyes narrowed. There was no walking on now.

  
"Jon." Viserys said, his jaw barely moving.

  
Jon noticed the sword at his uncle's waist.

  
"Uncle." Jon was never sure what to say around him. "You're going to war?"

  
Viserys thumbed at his sword. "Indeed, I'll be squiring for our Lord Commander. I'll be leaving with Lord Velaryon's fleet."

  
"Lucion told me about what happened in Lannisport." Jon added dumbly, unsure of how to feel about Viserys leaving. "It sounds dangerous in the West."

  
"Gerold expects Lord Greyjoy to not keep himself confined to the West for long. Everywhere up and down the coast is threatened now." Viserys' grip tightened on the hilt of his sword; he worked his jaw, his mind far away in the Sunset Sea. "We'll be sailing South soon, pick up some soldiers in the Stormlands and Dorne, then we'll meet up with the Redwyne fleet at the Arbor. Balon was a fool to challenge us, he woke the dragon and now he'll pay the price. The Greyjoys will all hang for this unprovoked attack."

  
"Will you be fighting; will it be dangerous?"

  
"Of course, a prince shouldn't shy from battle." Viserys said that almost defensively, before glaring at him. "Why? Hoping I won't come back?"

  
Jon's eyebrows knit together. "I was th-"

  
"Why are you here?" Viserys cut him off suddenly.

  
"I wanted to get away from th-"

  
"Why are you here instead of my brother?"

  
Jon stared, aghast. He wasn't sure how to respond to that.

  
"I've been wondering what he'd have done when faced with a war such as this. Ride out to meet it, I expect, as he did the traitor Robert. There may never have even been a war had he sat the Iron Throne today."

  
Jon remained silent as Viserys drew closer.

  
"How many are going to die before this war is done?" Viserys' words were growing heated now. "No doubt Balon recognizes Aegon's weakness. Rhaegar would have-… He was a real king; he didn't need that fat old septon to name him so." Viserys loomed over Jon, like a giant about to smash him into the ground. "I wonder why he spared your traitor uncle. He rode south with my dying brother, and Rhaegar never came back. Three kingsguard came back with you though."

  
Viserys seized Jon's arm. Jon cried out in alarm at that.

  
"He died for you, bastard. How many died in Robert's Rebellion because of your mother? Because of you?!" He yelled, giving Jon a shake.

  
"Stop, I'm sorry!" Jon yelled, pain knifing into his arm where Viserys grabbed him. Tears were beginning to flow now.

  
"Why are you here?!" He shoved Jon, who slammed painfully against the ground.

  
Jon scrambled to his feet, and ran.

* * *

He soon found himself wandering the many corridors of the Red Keep. This had often been a pastime that Jon enjoyed rather frequently now that they did not leave the castle as they used to. Although, now Jon's thoughts were filled with a tumultuous mixture of fear, sadness, and frustration. A number of those wandering these halls didn't appreciate the company or attention of a bastard, though he had found some welcoming individuals, and the serving folk seemed to care less of Jon's parentage. He liked to listen to their gossip, as he climbed down the winding stairs of the Red Keep and roved through its long hallways.

"She's been raving against her father for days!" One washerwoman had guffawed. "You know how she is? Always so commanding, she doesn't like it when she's the one being given orders!"

"Shh." Her companion tried to shush, but her giggling betrayed her. "You could get in trouble for talking about the lady like that."

"Sounds like her father sorted her out, he's been quite wroth, we could hear shouting all the way down the hall. She can't seem to stop ranting about the injustice of it." Another chimed in. "We all thought she'd turn into some old spinster, spending so long in the poor Queen's service. I heard her lord father finally found a match for her. Some poor lad from outside the capital."

"So, she'll have to leave?" The giggling one asked, her glee evidently growing.

Jon kept walking; some lady's evident misfortune did not interest him in the least.

Feeling somewhat hungry, he found himself arriving at the kitchens. It was almost always busy in here, there was never an end to preparation for meals for all the people of the castle. Chunks of red meat were already being laid out for the night's meal. Several cooks were sprinkling a number of spices over the dish. The heavy smell of cloves and peppercorns, ginger and garlic flooded Jon's sense. Across the kitchen, more cooks were chopping up long hot peppers, onions, green cabbages, and fresh leeks.

"Now don't be getting in the way, young dragon!" The fat cook yelled out, crossing the room to loom over Jon. "We need to be getting these into the oven, can't have a little one like you underfoot, tripping anyone up."

"Sorry Leyton, I was looking for something to eat."

"And you thought my kitchens were the right place to look?" Leyton peered over his belly. "Well, you'd be right." He declared with a grin. "Here, we have some honey cakes left from breakfast. Take this apple as well, can't have sweets alone, now can you? Now, you best be off. A young child like you is too easy to trip over."

He shoved an apple and a bit of honey cake wrapped in cloth into Jon's hands and pushed, more than steered, him out the door.

"You send Prince Viserys our well wishes before he's leaves, now. We pray he squires well under Ser Gerold, and returns home in good health."

"I will." Jon lied between mouthfuls of cake, he did not want to see Viserys anytime soon.

By the time the door to the kitchens shut, the honey cake was half gone. By the time Jon made it to the cellars, he was already brushing the crumbs from his jerkin.

As Jon climbed deeper into the castle, light from the sun quickly dimmed, to be replaced by the scant presence of a few token torches. As he paused to let his eyes adjust, with a loud crunch he took a bite of his apple, its sharp tartness burst across his tongue. Sometimes it was hard to navigate these halls, especially when it was dark and when one was journeying so deep into the cellars, but Jon was getting more and more practiced. It was fun to disappear on one side of the castle, only to appear on another. The route that Jon was taking now was one he had enjoyed taking in their children's games. Coming upon one intersection of corridors, a sound caught Jon's attention. Not too far off, he heard angry whispering approaching around the corner. It was faint, but their voices carried down these cold stone hallways.

"He's leaving soon, running back home to fight the Ironborn. There won't be much stopping us then." A frustrated voice with a thick accent quietly echoed down the hall.

"-But we aren't ready, too many left the capital after the funeral. And who knows how many will be sent after Balon's ilk." Responded a second pleading voice.

They were talking about the war, that was something Jon was very interested. Indeed, Jon was about to turn the corner and ask them more himself, when what he heard next made him pause.

"He's leaving behind Damon, with but a small guard. We'll never get another opportunity like this."

"But the kingsguard-"

"-Are but men, as skilled as they are. With so many off to war, only two will be a problem."

 _'Off to war…'_ Jon worked that thought through his head, confused. These men weren't talking about fighting in the war?

"And what of the bastard?" The second voice questioned; the steps were growing closer.

"The insult won't stand for much longer. He'll be gone, one way or the other."

This did not sound like a conversation that Jon was supposed to overhear. Frantically, he looked back. The hallway was too long, the voices growing to close, could Jon make the run without being caught?

"He's a threat, so long as he lives…"

"If it will put your mind at ease, then when we move, he dies."

 _'Too close, too close.'_ Was all Jon could think. He froze for a moment, before pressing himself tightly to the wall, kneeling low. There was nowhere to hide, but it was dark, and Jon was small, if he stayed still then maybe he wouldn't be seen. He hoped they wouldn't be able to smell the scent of the apple he'd eaten. That thought only helped to make his heart pound even louder, and it did nothing to stop his mind from conjuring thoughts of just what these two would do when they discovered him, if what Jon thought they were planning was true.

The voices were drawing closer and closer. Jon pressed himself even more tightly against the wall, trying to fuse into it and become part of the background. Just when the two were about to turn the corner, something in the wall gave way. And suddenly, Jon was falling through the wall.

 _'A hidden door!'_ Jon scrambled to shut it closed, sealing himself in complete darkness. His chest felt like it was going to burst. _'Surely they hear it.'_ Jon held his breath as they passed by where he hid.

"It is a treacherous undertaking..." The two were but inches from Jon now. "Will we have the support of the Lord of the Red Dunes? With his help we may well legitimize our actions."

"With the child in custody, we'll have everything we need. The rest will follow…" The voices faded down the hall, and cut off as they turned another corner.

Jon let out the breath he was holding, wondering at just what he had overheard. The immediate danger out of the way he tried to push the door, it didn't move. He tried to feel around for another switch, a lever, anything that might have opened the door once more. But it was too dark, and the wall was flat. Jon scrambled for something, anything.

"Oh, no. No, no. Please no." Jon muttered, a cold dread beginning to seep into him. He debated calling out, but the thought of those two men hearing and turning back frightened Jon too much to risk it. He sat there for a time, trapped in this dark hole in the walls of a dark cellar that was too rarely traveled. Jon wondered if he would ever get out, and the walls began to feel as if they were closing in on him. But then a whisper of a breeze reached him, and Jon decided to follow, deeper into the darkness. Jon kept a hand on the wall, to assure himself that he was making progress. Small scratching sounds made their way past him once, Jon didn't want to think of what may have made them.

In his blindness, Jon walked right through a cobweb. To Jon's icy horror, it draped itself across his face and he scrambled to swat it away. It would be just his luck to have disturbed a den of spiders. With that thought disturbing his mind, Jon was perhaps not as careful as he should have been. His leg hit something and Jon tumbled down. With a painful smack his cheek hit stone. Rubbing his throbbing cheek with one hand, Jon felt around where he had fallen. It appeared that he had tripped over a set of stairs, leading up.

The hall he'd been following continued on past the stairs. Jon was growing very anxious now. Should he go back and call for help? It had been some time since those men had walked past. Should he continue on through the dark hallway? Or climb the stairs and hope for a way out? Going up will surely lead to light, or perhaps some people to call out to, Jon wondered. It may also lead nowhere. A couple more forks in these pitch-black passageways would get Jon thoroughly lost. But then that ghost of a breeze whispered its way down the stairs. That made up Jon's mind, up was the way out, the air in the hallway was dead.

He climbed, slowly and unsteady in the darkness, he didn't want to fall. At the top was a short hallway, and what appeared to be the faintest glimmer of light. Jon had come upon the thinnest tendril of light, shining down from a short ceiling. It wasn't much, but to Jon it was the Seven's favor bestowed upon him. He felt around the edges of this light and discovered it to be one side of a stone slate.

 _'An exit!'_ Jon couldn't help but give a cry of excitement.

The slate was heavy but moveable, and with some struggle Jon lifted it. And found himself once more in the castle gardens and the godswood. With a heave Jon pulled himself out, and lay there a moment in a small private alcove. He was surrounded by high hedges, immense planters, and a leering stone dragon opposite the narrow entrance. Jon tried to calm his mind for a moment, but the conversation that he had overheard in the cellars had never left his mind, Jon picked himself up and ran.

He kept running until he nearly slammed into Ser Jaime and Oswell Whent.

"Woah, slow down there Jon, you're not ready to joust just yet." Oswell said with a laugh.

"Oswell, Oswell! I was just in the cellars-and I heard two men-I think they want to kill me!" Jon shouted breathlessly.

The two kingsguard exchanged a look, one that appeared more disbelieving than Jon would have liked.

"Hold on, take breath." Jaime set a hand upon Jon's shoulder to steady him, Jon was surprised to find how tired he was. Indeed, the sky outside had taken on golden hues with streaks of red. "Did someone say they wanted to hurt you?"

"Well," Jon took a breath, "they said bastard, that when they move, then the bastard dies."

"They were probably talking about Balon," Ser Oswell supposed, "he has made few friends of late. With what he's done to the Westerlands, most everyone in the castle wants him dead now."

"No, that's not it! They were talking about here!" Jon objected, growing upset. "They want to capture someone; they said the Lord of the Red Dunes would make it right!"

"Lord of the Red Dunes? You mean the Master of Laws?" Ser Jaime asked quizzically, frowning. "I don't believe Lord Taubert is interested in capturing anyone at the moment, let alone have anyone killed. He's too busy pouring over the old law books, now that we have this war on our hands."

"But the two in the cellars, they said Tywin is leaving soon, that there won't be a guard here!"

"You must have misheard them Jon," Ser Oswell stated dismissively, though there was a worried look upon his face. "Damon Lannister will be overseeing things here while the Lord Hand is away. Still, perhaps we best share your story with Ser Gerold. Come along."

"Don't worry Jon, you'll have my uncle Damon to look after you. He's a reliable enough man." Ser Jaime added, as they herded Jon towards the White Sword Tower. "And while I may be off to drive the Ironborn from the Westerlands, you'll have three kingsguard knights to protect you. They may not be lions, but they've the hearts of lions. A lion defends their pride fiercely, and the kingsguard's pride is those they're sworn to protect."

Somehow that didn't reassure Jon. He could already tell; they didn't believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's our first chapter outside Aegon's pov. I wasn't originally intending to have a Jon chapter quite yet, but this felt like a good spot to include him, and I got to shoehorn in my little guilty pleasure of having Jon discover one of the secret passageways within the Red Keep. 
> 
> Plus, now we have some real foes to worry about now. A war is well underway, plots are being whispered about in King’s Landing, Viserys and Jon have a little confrontation regarding ghosts of the past, how much will the kingsguard react to this plot they don't quite believe that is coming from a hysterical little child, etc. I’m wondering a bit about how some of these plot points are landing. Am I being too subtle with some of these? Too blunt? Comment what you think is going to happen to give me an idea.
> 
> I suppose you can all tell by now that I am entirely dedicated to making up an overly dramatic title for every chapter. Just a fun little thing I like to do after I finish writing a chapter.
> 
> I'm all caught up with the chapters I have posted on ff.net, so updates are going to slow down rather dramatically. Keep an eye out for more, I don't intend to abandon the fic anytime soon. I hope you're all doing well and you enjoy the new chapter!


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